


Man's Greatest Treasure

by Felix_Wright661



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Hufflepuff Pride, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-31 08:50:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12128889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felix_Wright661/pseuds/Felix_Wright661
Summary: Richard and Eliza Flynn of number 12, Chalkpit Lane, Titchwell, Norfolk, were entirely normal, thank you very much. However, it was very quickly apparent to them that their daughter was not, so apparent that when a letter arrived, claiming to be from 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry', they took it very much in stride.Lizzie Flynn soon discovers a second home at Hogwarts, alongside her new friends. This is the story of how they grew up together, and learned more than just the magic that comes hand in hand with Hogwarts.





	1. Lizzie - Diagon Alley

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to anybody who happens to be reading this, and thank you for putting yourself through it.  
> This happens to be the first fanfic that I have written, so any feedback or advice would be really quite useful.  
> Thank you again for giving this a chance, and I hope that you enjoy it.

Richard and Eliza Flynn of number 12, Chalkpit Lane, Titchwell, Norfolk, were entirely normal, thank you very much. However, it was very quickly apparent to them that their daughter was not, so apparent that when a letter arrived, claiming to be from 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry', they took it very much in stride. Indeed, the appearance of Professor Minerva McGonagall, while entirely unexpected, was treated like the appearance of any other unexpected guest: tea was quickly made, and soon they were seated around the coffee table, discussing the various applications of magic, and why the professor was so certain that Lizzie was a witch. Meanwhile, the object of their discussion had retreated to her room and was reading, trying desperately not to pay attention to the books that buzzed around her. They had too much of a resemblance to vultures circling some dying wildebeest for her liking. Normally she could control the floating thing, but she was nervous, and rightly so. She knew that in the other room, her parents and the strange woman dressed in emerald green were discussing her, and that was something that she did not like. Lizzie was a shy girl, who preferred her books and music to the bustle that her admittedly sheltered life brought. To put it plainly, Lizzie did not like people, and people did not like Lizzie. There is something slightly unnerving about an unspeaking eleven-year-old, who seemed to have perfected the art of blending into whatever background she was placed in, and like any group of people when confronted with something that unnerves them, people tended to stay away from Lizzie. Of course, this suited her just fine, and it was often that her teacher had noticed, after hours of silence, that Lizzie had not only completed the set work, but also the work set for the next few weeks, and now would be scribbling down scraps of music, or going through a dictionary, highlighting the words she didn't know yet. From the age of six, Lizzie had been labelled as a 'strange child', and to her parents, this revelation of 'magic', was just another flavour of strange. So, when she heard her mother's soft call, Lizzie dropped her book, and moved slowly and reluctantly down the stairs towards the living room.

 

To Professor McGonagall’s surprise, Lizzie was easily convinced of the existence of magic. Her nervous silence was broken only by short, sharp nods, as if the revelation that she was receiving was old news. Even in terms of the uncountable eccentricities of the wizarding world, Lizzie Flynn was a strange girl, it seemed. To Lizzie’s relief, her parents politely refused the offer to ‘apparate’ to Diagon Alley. Instead, they decided on a date to meet at somewhere named the ‘Leaky Cauldron’ and bid the professor goodbye. However, as she attempted to slip back to her room, her father caught her eye, and gestured to the couch. Lizzie was good at blending in, but the trick tended to be less effective on her parents. So, Lizzie sat, and waited for the gentle inquisition that was to come.

“What do you think about all this, dear?”

A shrug.

“Really? I would’ve thought you would be over the moon about this. It’s not every day you get told that magic is real.”

A furrowed brow, then another shrug.

“What’s wrong, dear?”

Silence, then in a little voice.

“I’m scared.”

“Darling, it’s okay to be scared. I would be worried for your sanity if you weren’t. But, sometimes, you have to acknowledge that you are scared, and have to face it.”

“I know.”

“And I know that you know. Here’s a question for you. Do you think your mother or I would ever do anything that would put you in danger?”

“………not intentionally.”

Her parents laughed at that, and even Lizzie gave a bashful smile.

“Exactly. You were going to have to go to high school in a year or so anyway. And we both know that would most likely mean you having to go away. This is just boarding school a year early, in exchange for magic. Does that sound like a fair deal?”

Lizzie gave a begrudging nod, then a small smile.

“I’m just overreacting, aren’t I?”

“Maybe a little, but I’d rather you overreacted and told us, than overreacted and didn’t. Ok?”

“Ok. Can I go now?”

“Sure.”

 

Diagon Alley wasn’t exactly crowded on the day that the Flynns stepped through the brick wall with Professor McGonagall, but there were enough people there that Lizzie shrank back at first, unnerved by the sheer mass of people and unfamiliarity in the street. Owls swooped overhead, goblins and elves tottered back and forth from a large marble building with the imposing name ‘Gringotts’, carved into the front, and nearly every man, woman, and child was wearing a robe of some variety, whether they appeared worn, faded and slightly tatty, or the luminous black silk that a short man with long white hair wore. Snatches of unfamiliar conversations reached her ears, discussing Nimbuses, to salamanders, to knuts, and dozens of other words that she had never heard before in her life. She took a slow, shaky breath, then released it. Her parents at taken a step forward already, and looked back at her, with encouraging smiles. She smiled back, and stepped forward as well, into the maelstrom of new that was Diagon Alley.

 

“Come in, come in, please, make yourselves welcome. Minerva, a pleasure to see you as always.”

“And you as well, Garrick.”

“Now, am I able to assume by your most notable presence that we have a Muggle-born to greet? Come, come, young lady, it is an absolute honour to meet you. I am Garrick Ollivander, and I believe you are here for your first wand. Am I correct?”

Lizzie flushed slightly, fidgeted with aimless nervousness, then met his eyes and nodded once. At a quiet cough from her mother, she spoke, softly, but audibly.

“It’s very nice to meet you too, Mr. Ollivander. I’m Lizzie, Lizzie Flynn. And, I would like a wand, if it’s no trouble.”

“If it’s no trouble, my dear girl, it is no trouble at all. There is nothing that I enjoy more than introducing a child to their first wand. So, let’s see what likes you, eh?”

Lizzie’s father stepped forward, standing next to Lizzie, and patting her lightly on the shoulder.

“So, Mr. Ollivander, what should Lizzie be looking for in a wand?”

Mr. Ollivander threw him a bemused look, before beginning to laugh.

“Of course, of course, I forget, you are new to the wizarding world. Mr. Flynn, ask not what Lizzie should be looking for in a wand, instead, what a wand should be looking for in Lizzie. The wand chooses the wizard, my good man, and it’s simply a matter of finding the right match. Now, Minerva, you’ve seen enough of these to know a thing or two. What do you think? Yew, no, no, you’re right, foolish of me, perhaps fir? Yes, yes, I guess not. Silver lime? I know, I know, I was just poking fun. Chestnut? Yes, why not. Here, chestnut and unicorn hair, 9 inches, quite springy.”

Before Lizzie could say a word, she had had a wand shoved into her hands, and Ollivander was looking expectantly down at her.

“Well, come on, my girl, give it a wave, give it a wave.”

Lizzie shook it the stick uncertainly, then leapt back as a pile of boxes in the corner fell over with a pathetic thump. Ollivander shook his head, then grabbed the wand, and returned to browsing the shelves.

“A little bit of basic wandlore for you. Each wand is made from two basic ingredients, a wood and a core. Ash, maybe? I, myself, use three different cores: unicorn hair, phoenix feather, and dragon heartstring. Hornbeam? No, no, no.”

“Do you mean you kill dragons just to make wands? That sounds rather, well, draconian.”

“No, no, Mrs Flynn, I wouldn’t dream of killing such magnificent creatures just to make wands. Sycamore? Probably not, but we’ll put it in the maybes. Plus, I sincerely doubt I could give a dragon a toothache, let alone kill one. No, I collect mine from dragons that have already died, thankfully. Here, pear with phoenix feather, 13 inches and somewhat stiff.”

Lizzie waved the wand warily, but this time nothing manifested.

“Interesting, interesting. Hawthorn? No, foolish of me. Now, matching woods to wizards is somewhat of an inexact art, but I do fancy myself at it. There is usually some similarities between the owners of wands of the same wood. Cherry? Poplar? Dogwood? Perhaps something different? Here, here, try this, try this. Larch with unicorn hair, ten and a half inches, slightly springy. Go on, try it.”

Lizzie, hesitantly, waved the length of light wood, then gasped, as the pile of fallen boxes and wands righted itself, shuffling into order then forming a layered tower of sealed cases. Mr Ollivander gave a huge smile, clapped his hands together, and chuckled at Lizzie’s expression of bemusement.

“Well done, my dear, well done. Yes, I think this wand will suit you well. I assume you would like the box?”

As he knelt to pick up the wand’s box from where he had dropped it in his excitement, Eliza Flynn stepped forward, with a concerned look on her face.

“Mr Ollivander, I’m afraid I must ask: what will the cost be for this? We don’t have much money, and something like this…”

“Why, Mrs Flynn, I assure you, it is rather cheap. It all comes to seven Galleons.”

“Galleons? Like, ships?”

“No, no, Lizzie, again, my mistake. We wizards have our own currencies. A galleon is made up of 17 sickles, which are each 29 knuts.”

“And, how much does that come to in pounds?”

Professor McGonagall stepped forward and started talking to Lizzie’s parents about exchange rates and forms of payment. At the same time, Ollivander stepped out from behind his desk, and gently handed her the wand, encased in its box. Lizzie frowned slightly, then, in a questioning tone, spoke.

“Mr Ollivander?”

“Yes, my girl? What is it?”

“You said each wood had similarities between owners.”

“Ah. And I suppose you would like to know what your wand means about you?”

“Yes, something like that.”

“Now, my dear Lizzie, that would be telling. I rather think it is your place to decide what your wand makes you, and what you will make of your wand. The wand may choose the witch, but that doesn’t mean it’s an entirely one-sided affair.”

Lizzie nodded and gave him a small smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Ollivander.”

“No, thank you, my dear. It is a pleasure to have met you.”

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Lizzie - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie boards the Hogwarts Express, meets some new friends, and finds out the terror of the Sorting for herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick warning: don't expect any form of regularity in updating. I'm sorry if you were hoping for something of the sort, but the rest will come eventually. Hopefully.
> 
> Anyway, thanks again for putting yourselves through this, and any advice or criticism is welcome.

One doesn’t really expect to run into a train-station wall on one’s first day at school. Of course, Lizzie, who was entirely expecting to run into the far too solid-looking wall in front of her, was pleasantly surprised when she did not run into said solid-looking wall. However, she did happen to run into the person who had just run through, who just gave her an amused smile. Lizzie flushed, and then was again pushed into the wizard in front of her, as her parents emerged from the wall, whose solidity, in Lizzie’s opinion, had been irredeemably disproven. Together, Lizzie and her parents bustled through the crowded station, filled with every kind of student, trunk, or animal that could be imagined. On top of her own trunk sat a silver cage, with the small grey kitten that Lizzie had named Percival sleeping inside. There was a variety of wide-eyed men and women, standing with eleven-year-olds, and looking around themselves like they still couldn’t believe that this was not some fantastic dream-world. Lizzie looked back to her parents, and laughed to herself at their own looks of faint disbelief. To be fair to them, she could hardly believe what she was seeing, a trunk of robes, cauldrons, spellbooks, and a wand in front of her, all real, all hers, and an entire world that had been hidden from her for her entire life, until it was revealed to her, all in a moment of glory that she thought she would never forget. If she was being honest to herself, it was all very overwhelming. Suddenly, the noise and bustle and utter newness of it all was too much. Suddenly, she wanted to be alone, lying on her bed, reading, or listening to music, or doing a crossword with her parents, and laughing at her dad’s stupid jokes, or her mum’s dry sarcasm, or just be anywhere but surrounded by so much that was so unfamiliar. She closed her eyes, just for a second, just to block out the sight of everything and everyone that surrounded her. She took a deep, faltering breath, and when she opened her eyes, her parents were standing in front of her. Her dad gave her one of his smiles, and her mum asked quietly, “Are you feeling okay, darling?”

Lizzie held them close then, just the three of them, like a barrier against everything she was afraid of, everything that the train, the one just now turning a bend and slowing onto the platform, held for her. Almost inaudibly, she whispered to them, “I’m going to miss you, both of you, a lot.”

Her dad laughed, and her mum elbowed him gently before replying. “And we are going to miss you just as much.”

“More, cause you’ve got two of us to miss, and there’s only one of you.”

“Dad, not helping.”

“Sorry, sweetie, but you are going to be fine. You are a brave, clever, young lady, and before you know it you’ll be turning teacups into frogs, and sending us them by airmail.”

“What your dad means, is that part of growing up is leaving behind the things or people you love. And it’s not forever, we’ll see you at Christmas, and then again in June, and we’ll write every week, and visit, if it’s allowed. You’re not leaving us behind forever, just for a year. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Lizzie took a deep breath, then another, then a third, and then nodded, and straightened.

“Well, I guess I need to get on the train.”

“I guess that that would be correct. Have a blast, darling, and don’t let anything get in your way. You’ve seen how useless the walls are, so that shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Bye, Dad. Bye, Mum. See you at Christmas.”

“See you then, Lizzie.”

And with that, Lizzie turned and picked up her kitten and her laden trunk, and, with another deep breath, stepped aboard the Hogwarts Express.

 

She wandered a little down the hallways, before realising that she should probably get into a compartment. She also realised that she had no idea where Hogwarts actually was, or how long the trip would be. The first compartment she entered had only one other occupant, another first-year, with long red hair, and a generous smattering of freckles. She smiled at Lizzie when she entered the compartment, and Lizzie smiled back.

“I’m Lizzie Flynn, nice to meet you.”

“I’m Ginny, Ginny Weasley. It’s nice to meet you too.”

They continued on in companionable silence, and until Ginny broke it.

“What house do you think you’ll get?”

“House?”

“You know, which one at Hogwarts? Oh, are you muggle-born? Sorry, I didn’t notice.”

“Muggle-born? I feel like I’m behind already.”

“That just means both of your parents are Muggles. You know, can’t use magic.”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really. Dad says there some people who care about, but they’re the people you shouldn’t care about.”

“And what about the Houses?”

“When you get to Hogwarts, they sort you into four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin.”

“How do they sort you?”

“I don’t know. Fred and George said they make you fight a troll, but Ron said they were only being idiots and that they’ve got a special hat.”

“A hat?”

“That’s what Ron said.”

“I quite like the idea of a special hat. I wonder if they’ve got someone appointed to wear it?”

Neither Ginny or Lizzie had noticed the newcomer and were startled by the sudden introduction of her airy voice. Turning, she saw a first-year, like them, with straggly, dirty, blonde hair, and a bright expression on her face. Shutting the door behind her, the girl sat next to Lizzie and smiled. “My name’s Luna. What’s yours?”

“I’m Lizzie, and this is Ginny.”

“Hello Ginny, it’s very nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Luna.”

“Are you a Weasley?”

“Yes.” Ginny’s reply sounded almost defensive. “So?”

“It’s just that my father always said to watch out for the Weasleys, because they were good people, and tended to grow on you.”

“Oh. Well, thank you, Luna.”

“What were you talking about before?”

“Before? Oh, I was just telling Lizzie about the houses. What do you think you’ll get, Luna?”

“Me? I’m not sure. They all sound very nice.”

“All of them? Even Slytherin?”

“Well, my father always said that ambition, when used well, could take you very far, and being cunning does sound like a compliment.”

“What’s wrong with Slytherin?”

“Slytherin’s where every dark witch or wizard went. It’s a bad place all round.”

“That’s an exaggeration. Plenty of bad people have been in other houses.”

“Anyway, we’ll see when we get there.”

From there, they avoided the topic of houses, instead discussing what they wanted to learn. Lizzie found herself liking both Ginny and Luna, despite noticing partway through their conversation that the latter appeared to be wearing a necklace made of corks. She didn’t bring it up.

 

When the piercing shriek of the train’s whistle rang out, the three had already changed into their robes, recollected their assorted belongings into their trunks, and were, in Lizzie’s case, alternating between pacing and sitting between Ginny and Luna, who both tried in vain to calm her down. As she heard the whistle subside, she let out a long, deep breath that she hadn’t realised she had been holding, and then let Ginny lead them out to the station, as she seemed the most confident of the three. As Lizzie stepped off the carriage, and onto the platform, she gasped and forgot for a few sweet seconds about the jostling crowds ahead of her, as she stared up into the dark, and the brightly-lit behemoth that must have been Hogwarts. She didn’t know what she had been expecting from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but despite the (she had thought overly) grand name, Lizzie was entirely unprepared for a citadel, complete with towers and pillars and belfries that, well, towered over her. Surrounded by the shadows as it was, Lizzie felt as if it were a stronghold, some last bastion against the night that encroached upon it. Her fascination was broken by a nudge from Ginny, who grinned at her new friend’s dumbfounded expression, and then gestured to the end of the platform, where a booming voice exclaimed “Firs’-years! Firs’-years over ‘ere! Come on, don’t be shy, I don’t bite.’ The owner of the voice paused when Ginny led the others in his direction. ‘And I assume you, young lady, must be another Weasley. I’ve known all your brothers, I ‘ave. Hope you’re cut from the same cloth. Come on then, firs’-years, follow me, down to the boats.”

 

Lizzie spent the next few minutes in the same state of wondrous disbelief, gaping in amazement at the forest, the grounds, and the castle itself. Indeed, when the merpeople rose to the surface of the lake to satisfy their own curiosity, she nearly fell out of the boat in surprise. It was only the quick reflexes of Hagrid, the mammoth groundskeeper, that stopped her hitting the water, who then gave a roar of laughter at her still gaping face. Even after they had disembarked, Lizzie was still overawed by the sheer size and majesty of the school that she had found herself in. The group of first-years were led to a small hall by Hagrid, who then left them there, huddled in small groups, nervously muttering to one another, with no one wanting to display their concern, and failing as a body to conceal their apprehension. Lizzie remained with Ginny and Luna, the latter being perhaps the only person who didn’t seem to be mentally choreographing her own social demise. And so, they waited, with Ginny and Lizzie alternating between pacing and muttering increasingly dire predictions about what was ahead of them, while Luna watched them with a serene smile.

 

Ten minutes had passed, (apparently Luna had been counting) when the door creaked open. Entering the room, Professor McGonagall was met by forty-three pairs of eyes, staring intently at her. Of course, she had done this before, and was already well used to this response, and replied to their silent pleadings with a slight smile and a raised eyebrow.

“Alphabetical order, please, students. Come on now, stop that crying, you’ve nothing to worry about. Alphabetical order, that’s right, then follow me.”

They did so without so much as a mutter, the panicked murmurs subsiding to a slightly more relaxed silence. Lizzie, being perhaps the tenth or so in the line, took in a large breath. Before her, she saw Professor McGonagall open the creaky door once again, and then move into the dark passage ahead of them. Behind her, a small, dark-haired girl followed, then a heavy-set blonde boy, and behind them the line began to move, following them into the passage. While Lizzie followed, her internal organs turned into a veritable troupe of acrobats, as her stomach did flips, her intestines seemed to turn to jelly, and her heart seemed to hold itself in her throat for a record-breaking time, and plummet to somewhere on the cobbled floor at precisely the same moment. Finally, she heard the creaking of another door, this time in front of her, and she saw the glimmer of candlelight, magically amplified, beckoning them forward, towards the sounds of hushed mutters and whispers, and then she had passed through the door, and into the cavernous hall beyond, where she stood under the brilliance of dozens upon dozens of floating candles, peering up at a roof that seemed as if it was made of cloud and wind and rain rather than wood or marble or slate, oblivious for a precious few seconds to the eager gazes of the hundreds of students seated in front in front of her.

 

While the line of first-years slowly entered the Great Hall, only made tardier by the combined scrutiny of the entire student population of Hogwarts, as well as many of the staff, Lizzie shrank into the wall, between a tall, blonde boy and a redheaded girl who seemed to be competing with each other as to who could be more visibly bored. She stayed there for an uncomfortable few minutes, until the last of the first-years, a girl with long chestnut hair and a bony face, had entered, surveyed the room with wonder, and then moved to the end of the line. Most of the other students had finished their curious ogling several minutes ago, but the few who still surveyed the line of new students quickly turned back towards the front of the room when a faint cough was heard from the head of the teacher’s table. Lizzie, who had been counting the number of stones in each archway, turned to see a tall wizard, with long white hair and a kind smile, addressing the assembled school.

“Welcome, to a new year at Hogwarts, both for those students returning, and for those students who are newly arrived. I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of this most excellent school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. To the first-years that we have most discourteously failed to recognise, I say, once more, welcome to your home for the next seven years. Those years shall be filled, or, I should say, I hope will be filled, with education, friendship, and happy memories, and this, I once again hope, shall be the start of those. Of course, before we begin the introductory banquet, we must begin another ancient tradition, one just as steeped in ritual, mystique and rumour: The Sorting. Professor McGonagall, if you would be so kind.”

At the words ‘The Sorting’, the line of first-years had once more broken into nervous murmuring, but was immediately silent when McGonagall entered the room through a door to the side, carry something covered by a velvet cloth, something that moved under the cloth, something that seemed to grumble in a barely audible fashion. Lizzie’s heart fell once more, this time to some three metres below the soles of her shoes. What did they expect from her? She had barely gotten here, and they already thought her to be somewhat capable, in any field? As the thin professor reached the centre of the room and placed the bundle down, Lizzie began mentally listing both exits, and the paltry amount of magical theory that she had picked up from several arbitrary skim-throughs of her textbooks. And finally, when McGonagall clutched the velvet covering, Lizzie clenched her eyes tightly shut, and waited for the inevitable screams of fear.

 

There was one scream, from an overexcited boy several places in front of her, who immediately turned bright red. This observation, however, was missed by Lizzie, who warily opened her eyes, to be confronted by the utterly unintimidating sight of a ragged hat, sitting on a cushion of the same fabric as the covering. She had just begun to slow down her heart, which now seemed determined to cover three places at once, when the ragged hat sat up on the cushion and began to sing. Lizzie was, sadly, far too overwhelmed to remember any of the overly complicated and intricate verses that the hat serenaded the room with. When the song finished, it was met with thunderous applause from the students and a few weak claps from some of the more composed first-years. Standing next to the now smug-looking hat, Professor McGonagall produced a tightly bound parchment scroll, which she began to read aloud from.

“Brekilion, Rhiannon!”

The tall, dark-haired girl who had led the line out of the first room stepped forward hesitantly, then sat on the cushioned stool, as McGonagall placed the ragged hat on her head. The hat seemed to hum to itself for a few seconds, then shouted “HUFFLEPUFF!” One of the tables, covered with yellow and black decorations began to applaud and cheer, while Rhiannon stepped down from the stool and took one of the empty places on the table, and Professor McGonagall called the next name from the list, “Buyle, Dorian”. Dorian, a heavy-set, blonde boy, had only had the hat on his head for a second when it shouted “GRYFFINDOR”. For the next few minutes, there was a slow stream of students moving to the hat and being sorted, in an even spread of houses. The hat seemed quite arbitrary about its timing, ranging from under a second for Colin Creevey to be placed in Gryffindor, up to three and half minutes for Mia Dunn, until the hat finally placed her in “SLYTHERIN”. And then, Lizzie heard her own name being agonisingly called, and suddenly she was seated in front of the entire school, and the hat had been placed on her, almost covering her eyes.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here now?”

Lizzie almost fell off her stool at the startlingly intrusive voice in her mind.

“Plenty of smarts, and no small amount of creativity, or cunning. Fear, of course, but a good core of bravery to go with that. Hmmm, loyalty, to friends and family, kindness, very good, very good, curiosity! Almost bursting with it, I would say. Very well, very well, where shall we put you? Gryffindor? No, no, I think not, not for you, no. Slytherin, perhaps? Curiosity and cunning, and there’s always time to develop some healthy ambitions. No, I suppose not, but what about Hufflepuff? Kindness, loyalty, you’d make a fine Hufflepuff, what do you say to that? And then there’s Ravenclaw. Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure and all that. Yes, I think it’d come down to those two, eh, Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw. What do you think, Lizzie? Kindness, or intelligence?”

It had taken Lizzie about a half a minute to realise that she wasn’t developing some form of psychosis and that instead, she was having a mental conversation with a talking hat. If she was entirely honest with herself, she hadn’t entirely ruled out the first option. However, in the moments that it took her to recognise the fact that she had just been asked a question in what had been, so far at least, a very one-sided mental conversation, it seemed that the hat had found an answer to his question.

“Hmmm, hmmm, yes, curious, very curious. Well, if that’s what it is, then I think it shall have to be…HUFFLEPUFF!” The last word was said in a great roar, that was met and matched by the applause from the Hufflepuff table. Shakily, Lizzie took the hat off, and moved to join her new house, scarcely noticing the edges of her robes changing from grey to yellow and black.


	3. Lizzie - Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie meets her new roommates.

The faintest glint of golden light filtered through the open curtains, and, wandering through the dormitory like the scent of new possibilities, came to rest, like a hesitant insect flitting through a half-remembered, half-imagined garden, all herbs and flowers and the rich, warm feel of earth, came to rest on Lizzie’s eyelids, only for second, then taking flight once more, set to meandering through the autumn air. Those few seconds were enough, however, to dislodge her from the pleasant dreams that had whispered through her mind, dreams of warmth, and comfort, and home, and slowly she opened her eyes, yawned, and, still groggy, rubbed the haze of sleep from her eyes as she rose. She was an early riser by long habit, falling asleep to a bedside lamp and the smooth feel of paper beneath her fingers, only to rise with the new day, with the first rays of sun that lifted themselves over the winding coast. So, that morning, she was the first in her dorm to sit up in her bed, and, casting her eyes over the four other beds, and their still slumbering occupants.

 

There, to her left, was the dark hair that she had first noticed on Rhiannon, black as peat and tied neatly, but reaching the small of her back, now released from its bonds, spread across her pillow like the feathers of a starling. With her hard, green eyes and her lack of hesitation to speak her mind, Rhiannon had become something of a leader among the group, directing the conversation where she wished. Lizzie had liked her immediately. Her directness and determination were endearing, and her confidence was the kind that inclined you to agree with her, no matter the plan or point.

 

On the bed next to Rhiannon, her mouth still curved in the almost glowing smile that she gifted to any and everyone who looked her way, lay the only other muggle-born to have been sorted into Hufflepuff, Matilda, “but call me Tilly”. After introductions had been made last night, Tilly had been insistent on including the quieter girls in the conversation, going as far as to stop her own trains of thought to ask Lizzie her opinion on any range of topics. She appreciated the effort, she really did, but she had been more than happy to stay silent and take all the new concepts in, and to have her muttered tête-à-têtes with the girl who now lay to her right.

 

Juniper was slight, and pale, with dirty brunette hair and a thin mouth that hardly moved, whether breathing, eating or talking. Lizzie had decided early in their conversation that she liked the girl, with her quick mind and ability to pull facts from thin air. They both had been quiet, or, more accurately, uncannily silent, in the discussion on the Hufflepuff table, but when they had taken the time to talk to each other, they had quickly found areas of shared interest, namely the long lists of novels and epics that each had read and loved.

 

Finally, between Tilly and Juniper, finishing the circle of four-posters that the five of them formed, lay Alicia, who Lizzie felt she knew least out of the other four. The others seemed to fit easily into their own roles, but Alicia…it seemed as if the fence was her default position to occupy. She was more than willing to converse within the group, but she didn’t have the desperation for noise, for interaction and communication that Rhiannon and Tilly had displayed. From the snippets Lizzie had overheard, she had a wry intellect, but it was overwhelmed by the conspicuously absent smirk, the faint grin that seemed to beg for an opponent, a challenger.

 

As the sun continued its sedated rise, the other four woke, pulling themselves, one by one from the muffled drowsiness of sleep, into the rich, warm air of their dormitory. While the shadows cast by the frames of the windows scurried slowly across the floors, they dressed, and talked, and laughed, and by the time the last of them had crossed the threshold, only turning back for a moment to close the door behind her, the room seemed almost like home, as if it were suddenly filled with liquid gold.


End file.
